


Fallout: Autumn Morning

by Fyresword



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Enclave, F/M, Military Science Fiction, Post-Apocalypse, Tech Porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 10:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyresword/pseuds/Fyresword
Summary: Ten years ago, the Enclave - under the leadership of Colonel, then President, Augustus Autumn - achieved victory in the Capital Wasteland, destroying the other factions that sought to take supremacy and reclaiming the surrounding region for a reborn United States of America. Now they come to the Commonwealth seeking to annex the region and Nate Washington - Sole Survivor of Vault 111 - finds himself unsure where his loyalties should lie as their arrival interacts with his quest to find his son and the machinations of the mysterious Institute...Crossposted from Spacebattles.com as the original author.





	1. Prologue

**Raven Rock Bunker Complex**

 

**13:00 EST, March 20 2278**

 

Liam Walker did not like Raven Rock. He was familiar enough with the winding maze of corridors, but the military base reminded him too much of his old home – Vault 101, the bunker where he had spent almost all his life before venturing out into the wasteland after his missing father. On the way out he had accidentally killed the Vault’s Overseer – and he was still considered _persona non grata_ , even though the Vault had recently opened up to the outside world. The last time he had been here, it had been on a mission of what his commanding officer had called a “necessary task” and what less charitable minds would consider political assassination or an outright coup.

 

But they didn’t – couldn’t, the President had made very clear – know just what John Henry Eden had been planning, or his true nature. So he kept mum and said nothing. So far as the world knew, “he” had just had an unexpected stroke or heart attack. The history books would comment on the irony that the paranoid measures he took to prevent his demise had prevented him from getting medical assistance.

 

He knocked on the oaken door, as a mere matter of courtesy, and opened it.

 

“Welcome,” the figure sitting at the desk opposite said in his characteristic Tidewater drawl, ruffling a finger through his light brown hair – though he wore civilian suits now, the medals of his military career still covered his chest. “Lt. Walker, it’s been too long since I last saw you.”

 

“Yes, Aut-”

 

“Mr. President, now, remember. I expect people to be formal when speaking with me.”

 

“Yes, Mr. President. I voted for you in the election after all – of course, there weren’t any other candidates. So, what do you want to speak with me about? Is it what happened at the purifier?”

 

“As I’ve said before, I bear no responsibility for the death of your father. His own stubbornness and gullibility when it came to rebel propaganda led to him releasing that radiation pulse. He killed himself in an attempt to kill me – hoping to put an end to our campaign in the region and with it the last, best hope for the United States of America ... and the world.”

 

Walker looked to the flag standing on the office – the old pre-War flag. Once there had been an “E” symbol – the E’s middle bar itself composed of three bars – in the blue patch on the top left-hand corner. Now it was just a single star with the others circling around it.

 

“So what is it?”

 

“I have long-term plans for the beached aircraft carrier. The one that recently accepted re-integration after I had some of my boys land vertibirds on the flight deck.”

 

“What of it? It’s just another wasteland settlement we have to protect against the super mutants. At least until we clear out their base and destroy their FEV supplies. After that, they’ll be doomed.”

 

“You made a report before we had announced our presence. One of your first missions for me was scouting it out. I believe it was concerning the android?”

 

“Yes, but what does that have to do with the current situation? I’ve just returned from Philly and the locals there are eager to join us – just for the water from Project Purity so much as anything.”

 

“I already know,” Autumn replied. “Suffice to say, with the steel-refining capabilities of Pittsburgh – once we destroy the warlord in control there and purge those troglodyte _creatures_ –, the dockyards of Naval Station Norfolk, and the miracle metal produced by Project Duraframe; we can eventually make her seaworthy again. Rebuild her. And send her on a long-range expedition.”

 

“Where?”

 

“The origin point of the android you encountered on that very same carrier,” President Augustus Autumn said. “Boston.”

 

==*==

 

**Naval Station Norfolk**

 

**11:00 EST, September 15 2287**

 

Rhonda Richardson put her military cap on and clutched the bottle of champagne tight as she heard the President’s speech, his Tidewater drawl still distinctive from such a far distance. She knew it was being broadcast across the nation – what parts of it were now back under the control of the US Federal Government, still informally known to an extent as “the Enclave” - even by the President himself occasionally. That had never formally speaking been an official designation, derived as it was from the name of its secretive headquarters, Control Station ENCLAVE.

 

That base had been destroyed more than forty years ago, in a cataclysmic explosion that had killed thousands – including Rhonda’s own great-grandfather, President Richard “Dick” Richardson. The explosion had later been determined to be sabotage caused by terrorists aligned with the illegal regime of the secessionist “New California Republic”. After that the majority of military and civilian personnel on the west coast had decamped to Raven Rock, Adams Air Force Base, and Mount Weather – leaving behind a small group at Camp Navarro owing to logistical difficulties.

 

It wasn’t known if the base had survived the past 40 years, but things looked grim. Still, she hoped so – most people who had been in US service from the beginning did. The wastelanders – including some in her unit – didn’t really understand.

 

She tried her best to put on a smile – this day was a nice break from most of what she did as a Sergeant in the US Army Logistics Corps, which boiled down to glorified clerical work. This day, she was to be the star of the show – though looking on the mighty warship before her, she wondered if she might be herself upstaged by that hulk of steel and duraframe. But even though it was going to be launched today, there were still almost two months before the expedition that everybody in the military was talking about. The recon team needed to gather more data and logistical preparations needed to be made - once she arrived in the region herself with the first wave of troops, she knew her workload would only increase.

 

“USS _Richardson_ ”, the white letters in stencilled military typeface painted on her stern declared her to be – the living memory of the man who had taken the first steps to reclaiming American soil. That was technically inaccurate – Rhonda had heard whispers about the man’s “tyrannical behaviour” and his “going too far”, though she didn’t know how accurate they were. Her own father, Donald W. Richardson, had said nothing of the matter, though he had never known the man himself.

 

She was an impressive ship, after all the repairs had been completed – with the latest in modern computer technology, 4 fusion reactors powering her systems, and the capacity to carry two squadrons of VB-02 vertibirds and F-77 Valkyrie fighters each – about a hundred aircraft in total.

“This day represents not only a triumph of our military, but of our industrial might ...”

 

The President’s speech continued.

 

“… As a signal to America’s enemies, on this continent and others, that we are committed fully to rebuilding and reuniting our country, no matter the forces that put themselves up against us. As the late President’s great-granddaughter herself has been invited to play a key role in the ceremony, we take the memory of our assassinated President to heart and promise never again to fall into such jeopardy.”

 

“1, 2, 3, launch!”

 

The gates of the drydock opened and Rhonda threw her bottle against the side as the massive ship rolled down the gangway with a ponderous speed, quickly gaining momentum to smash into the waters of the Chesapeake Bay.

 

==*==

 

**Richmond, Virginia**

**11:30 EST, September 16 2287**

 

Richmond had outstayed its welcome for Martin McLaggen and his caravan. He was a trader from the NCR travelling on the Grand Trail – the biggest trade route in the Wasteland, through Legion Territory and the South then up north to the Commonwealth and back west to sunny California – and he'd been stuck here since for a month. That damn fool Murphy had punched a little too hard in a bar fight and the Mayor'd been back-logged with requests from April till late September.  
  
Come to think of it, this whole journey had been a disaster. First, barely after leaving the NCR at Hoover Dam he'd been shaken down a thousand caps by a petty warlord. _Say what you like about Caesar_ , he thought, _at least he didn't pay exorbitant tolls_ . Then his wagons full of energy weapons and electronics had been impounded by the Lone Star Republic, and he'd lost twenty good men to bandits near the old Mexican border. Then Jenny'd shot a man who tried to abuse her in Orleans and he'd spent a month making sure she didn't get imprisoned. And finally, he'd spent the last few months fighting ghouls, tribals and swathes of mutant kudzu to get to Richmond, whereupon one of his mercenaries killed a man and couldn't pay the blood money. If this bad luck lasted much longer, his company was busted.  
  
He looked around the busy marketplace in front of the town hall, seeing the usual brahmin-drawn carts and a busker singing some old ballad:  
  
“He was comin' down the grade makin' ninety miles an hour,  
The whistle broke into a scream,  
They found him in the wreck with his hand upon the throttle,  
He'd been scalded to death by the steam...”  
  
And then … fuck.  
  
Martin saw the man first. He was wearing a tailored, clearly expensive suit and had … _a working pip-boy_ ! And there were his bodyguards, wearing power armour that …  
  
No, it _was_ that armour. The old armour McLaggen knew from the history books, from school, from the museum in New Arroyo. _Enclave._ He turned white.  
  
_Must be mercs of some kind,_ he thought, trying to rationalise it _. They headed out east after taking the armour as some kinda trophy_ . That was when he heard a local radio station coming from a market booth.  
  
_“ Yankee Doodle came to town a-riding on a pony,_  
 _Stuck a feather in his cap and called it macaroni,_  
 _Father and I went down to camp along with Captain Goodin',_  
 _And there we saw the men and boys as thick as hasty pudding!”_   
  
“What's that radio station you're listening to?”  
  
“Enclave Radio,” the shopkeep said in her Virginia accent. “Says it's the official station of the Fed'ral Government - sometimes they say 'Enclave', it's the same thing - but they sure took their sweet time helping us.”  
  
_“ And there they were a thousand men,_

_As rich as Squire David,_

_And what they wasted every day,_

_I wished it could be saved!”_  
  
“The Enclave is gone,” McLaggen said, trying to convince himself as much as anything. "We defeated them decades ago after they tried to wipe out humanity!”  
  
“Defeated? Mister, they just launched an aircraft carrier. Heard it on the news just yesterday; that President Autumn sure has a _sweet_ voice. And they haven’t been wiping out anybody other than super mutants and raiders. There aren’t any left in the Capital Wasteland any more thanks to them.”  
  
“ _And there they had a swapping gun,  
As big as a log of maple,  
On a mighty little cart,  
A load for father's cattle!”_  
  
“Screw Murphy!” McLaggen yelled to his associates. “We're heading back to the NCR! We have to warn them if it's the last thing we do!”  
  
As they hurried back to their lodgings to prepare to begin their journey, the final words of the old song played.  
  
_“It scared me so I hooked it off,_  
 _Nor stopped as I remember,_  
 _Nor turned about till I got home,_  
 _Locked up in mother's chamber!”_

 

**Cambridge, Greater Boston Area**

**10:00 EST, 11 November 2287**

Sgt. Elliot Tercorien was woken with a loud noise, an overwhelming boom that might have deafened him had he been closer to the site. He looked up in panic, trained and honed combat senses taking over – there was a fireball in the sky, already dissipating. An air-to-air nuclear missile, too high up to cause any significant fallout or radiation exposure, a paltry 1.5 kilotons of firepower. And to the southeast – he checked with his binoculars – the distinctive shape of an F-77 Valkyrie fighter, its wings swept forward like no military plane in service before the nuclear war, already zooming away.

 

It was a mere three days before Operation Iron Eagle swung into full gear, but already the US military had made its mark on the region.

 

Sometimes he went to sleep fearing that he would wake up on an experimentation table – his whole life since his rescue from that den of horrors a vision implanted into his mind by those freakish little green men that had abducted his squad and experimented on his squadmates to the point they’d had to be mercy-killed.

 

He had been one of the only ones that had escaped – along with the little girl he’d adopted, Sally, and the special forces man who’d rescued him. The rest had died on that alien mothership, giving them precious time to get back to the teleport chambers – and to Earth – before it had collided with the other alien ship. The Samurai – he didn’t recall the name, now – had even stayed behind on the bridge to make sure their plan succeeded.

 

He got into his armour – a suit of Mk. 7 X-02 ‘Black Devil’ power armour (that being a term the Brotherhood traitors had used before being appropriated by the US Military itself), enjoying the cool pneumatic hiss as his suit opened to let him in and then closed around him. He took his M-550 Liberty plasma rifle – a derivation of the old Glock-86 ‘Plasma Defender’, expanded to rifle size – and hurried out of the old police station his recon team; Squad Echo, 3 rd  Platoon, 2  nd  Company, 1  st  Marine Regiment – were using as a base, firing shots into the mass of super mutants attacking the pre-War facility after clambering onto the standard-issue military barricade.

 

He took out one with ease, and another, and another – but it wasn’t enough. The mob seemed endless. More worryingly, he was the only soldier with power armour – his men were in combat armour for ease of travel and to keep a low profile. They might not be able to hold.

 

“I’m on standby to do a combat evac,” his pilot, Camilla Everhart, said through his helmet radio, from the vertibird planted on the police station’s roof, next to the antenna array that theoretically should provide the small base with an electromagnetic shield against teleportation - the eggheads wanting to test one of their new theories per usual, he guessed.

 

“Acknowledged,” he replied, squeezing off another shot. “But no need, we’re holding them.”

 

Just then he saw laser rifle shots hitting from behind the super mutants, picking off them one by one. A group of them split off to deal with the intruder, and the confusion gave Elliot’s men an opportunity. He loaded a plasma grenade into the underbarrel attachment of his rifle and fired it into one of the largest masses, scything a group down and blasting fragments of blood, bone and brains in all directions.

 

After that they proved easy to pick off one by one, and the mysterious helper approached the USMC soldiers, advancing cautiously in combat armour.

 

He was – _no, it can’t be_ – Elliot recognised him as he got closer. One of the soldiers moved to level a weapon, but Elliot moved his hand aside.

 

He should have been long dead. Elliot had never thought he’d see that man – one of his close friends and a fellow soldier in the 108 th  Infantry Battalion – ever again. He spoke out loud.

 

“Nate?!”


	2. Chapter One

Nate Washington, sole survivor of Vault 111, woke up at dawn and looked out again from the Vault entrance near Sanctuary Hills on the ruins of Boston. Somewhere in these ruins, he knew, was the shadowy Institute. Somewhere was the brutal man who had murdered his wife and kidnapped his son. Somewhere was, he hoped beyond hope, where his son still lived. He ate his breakfast, a concoction of mutfruit and razorgrain, and prepared to set out for the day. Maybe he would find a lead this day. It was all that kept him going forward sometimes (well, that and  Piper).  
  
He set out at 9 AM sharp by his Pip-Boy’s chronometer, armed with a laser rifle, 10mm pistol, and a pre-War combat knife – more than enough to deal with any raider scum he might encounter on the way. Hiking at a generous pace forward into the ruins of Cambridge, he was-  
  
The first thing he noticed was the shockwave that knocked him to his back and the loud boom above. Luckily the explosion had been behind so his vision wasn’t damaged and-  
  
He looked up and saw the fireball interrupting the quiet blue midday sky like ... like ... the bomb. The one that had ripped apart his quiet suburban existence, killed Boston, led to Nora’s death and taken Shaun from him. The one that had detonated two hundred years ago. To him it felt like mere weeks.  
  
“What in God’s name?” he shouted, unheeding of those who might hear him. An object was approaching fast, screaming from the sky like the Chinese planes shot down over Anchorage, covered in fire and smoke. Nate ran like the devil himself was chasing him and hurried into an old personal fallout shelter seconds before it hit the ground, pushing up a vast cloud of smoke and dust. He got out of the shelter and looked to the sky. He could hear the distinctive sound of a fighter engine to the south-west.  
  
_There haven’t been any fighter planes since the Great War,_ Nate thought. _You must have imagined it_. Hesitantly he took a radiation drug –  never could be too careful – and approached the crashed object. It was ... some sort of saucer, like in a sci-fi holotape. An unearthly being was desperately crawling away from the alien vessel, cradling its bulbous green head in its hands before it pitifully expired.  
  
_No_ , Nate thought. _You haven’t imagined it_. _This is real. Then that means ... the fighter jet must be real too. Is it Institute tech? Or have American forces survived?_  
  
That thought seemed almost unimaginably good to be true, so he  prepared o checked the radio function on his Pip-Boy and prepared to switch to the old military frequencies. If any American troops were still active, they should be using these frequencies.

 

He was distracted by the sudden sound of shooting – what sounded like plasma weapons mixed with pipe rifles. It was from near the old police station, that he’d never really investigated or gone near in his forays into the ruined town.  
  
A few ferals ambushed him on the way, but he dealt with them fairly easily. Their atavistic savagery was no match for pre-War military training.  
  
Finally, he found the place. About seventy-five super mutants were circling around it, looking for a weak spot and loosing fire on it with pipe rifles, as men in combat armour took pot-shots at them. On the roof was a figure in imposing, insectoid power armour, the likes of which Nate had never seen in his life.  
  
He didn’t know who these folks were, but if they needed help dealing with super mutants, they had the right man for the job.  
  
Nate moved with military precision, reflexes honed in the battlefield of Anchorage and the post-apocalyptic wasteland springing to life instinctually. A laser blast to the head blasted apart one abomination’s cranium and badly wounded its fellows. He kept up a barrage, skilfully weaving in and out of cover as they duied. One by one, the creatures died until there were none left.  
  
“Stop! “ said one of the troopers on the steps of the building. “Identify yourself!”  
  
Nate put down his gun, raised his hands and spoke.  
  
“Nate Washington, former US Army,” he said. “Serial Number 876530, 108th Infantry.”  
  
The power-armoured man who was at the barricade took off his helmet, astonished.  
  
“ _Nate?!_ ”  
  
“ _Elliot?_ ”  
  
==*==  
  
The following discussion was rather surprising for both men.  
  
“How’re you still alive?” Elliot Tercorien asked his old friend over a glass of whiskey.  
  
“Vault-Tec experiment,” Nate replied. “Cryogenics. Me, my wife Nora and my son Shaun were put into cryogenic suspension for two hundred years. Then some bastards came along, kidnapped Shaun and murdered Nora when she tried to save her baby. _My_ baby. Soon as I find the bastard who did it I’m gonna make him wish he’d killed me too!”  
  
After a slight pause he kept on talking.  
  
“So, Elliot, how’re _you_ still alive? Last I heard you were MIA at the third battle of Dutch Harbour.”  
  
“Me and my squad, we ... got captured and experimented on.”  
  
“By  the ChiComs?”  
  
“By aliens. Little green men with bulbous heads and some sort of mind powers. They did sick experiments on us and kept us in cryo when they weren’t playing their little twisted games.”  
  
“How’d you get out?”  
  
“I got rescued by some sort of special forces agent. Together we took over the alien ship and rammed it into another one of theirs. Big explosion, but I doubt anybody ever saw it. We barely managed to teleport off before the collision.”  
  
“How’d you end up in Boston?”  
  
“D.C. was a warzone at the time. There were US government forces, some techno-cult in powered armour, super mutants and ferals as far as the eye could see, and bandits under every fucking bush. Not that there were any bushes, the water had so many rads and pollutants in it you were better off drinking alcohol the whole time. So I signed back up with US forces because, well, what else could I do? All my friends and family were long dead and, well, there was nothing else to do. So we fought under President Autumn and we did damn well by my account of it. Purged the super mutants, sent the techno-cultists packing, restored law and order, and started to rebuild America.”  
  
“President Autumn?”  
  
“Augustus Autumn, President of the United States of America. Man’s harsh but, hey, it’s a harsh world now. He hung all the slavers of some shitstain called Paradise Falls from lampposts as an example to their compatriots- threw the leaders out of vertibirds too -, cleaned D.C. of super mutants entirely, and restored fresh water to the city’s surviving residents on condition that they accept American authority.”  
  
“You still haven’t told me how you ended up in Boston.”  
  
“Well, I was getting to that. You see, one of the main towns in the D.C. region was built in the wreckage of an aircraft carrier. So Autumn sent US forces to purge a bandit kingdom in Pittsburgh so he could get the steel he needed to rebuild it. We did it and our scientists along with that guy I talked about earlier managed to synthesise a vaccine for the mutant disease afflicting the population. So we rebuilt the aircraft carrier, and we’re ready to flex our muscles a bit. The USS _Richardson_ is arriving in just three days. I hope you don’t miss it.”  
  
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. So what do you need in Boston?”  
  
“We need land, we need tech, and we need people. You see, D.C. is still fucked up. The Chinese used as many cobalt bombs, neutron bombs, chemical weapons and bioweapons as they could on the region, and we’re still fixing it up. And look at Boston. Lots of almost intact farmland, industry, and resources.  There’s talk of making it a provisional Capital for the good old US of A while we clear out D.C.”  
  
“Second: tech. We got intel from up north about the Institute and all the stuff they supposedly have locked up tight. Humanlike androids, advanced robotics, gene-databases for dozens of extinct species, cold fusion. Our mission, in large part, is to get them to share it with us, by hook or by crook.”  
  
“Third: people. Even with current maternity incentives we have a pretty small population – especially of educated people. We have the US people who arrived in D.C. ten years ago and the dwellers of surviving Vaults, and neither were very populous. If we have more people under our wing, that means more factories we can get back online, more talent we can exploit, and more soldiers and policemen. And Boston has a lot of people, even now.”  
  
“True,” Nate replied. “Much as the raiders, gunners, ferals and super mutants are currently trying to reduce it.”  
  
“Good,” Elliot replied. “I’ll make a report saying we made contact with friendly locals and they helped us with our little problem. You any kind of big shot, by any chance?”  
  
“Yeah,” Nate said. “I’m the leader of the Commonwealth Minutemen, leader of Sanctuary Hills and a good deal of other settlements, and I’m good with the only newspaper in the whole city.”  
  
“Good,” Eliot said. “You should gather your friends and go over to Lexington in three days time. That’s where we’ll begin.”  
  
==*==

 

**Eastern Seaboard, Atlantic Ocean**

**13:00 EST, 11 November 2287**   
  
USS  _ Richardson _ cut through the uncannily calm waters of the Atlantic seaboard, a fighter plane flying in from the northeast. Until three years ago, she had been the settlement of Rivet City – now she was the flagship of the United States Navy, rechristened after the last President to govern from the secretive Control Station Enclave. About forty years ago, the old oil rig had been blown up by terrorists aligned with the secessionist “New California Republic” who snuck a nuke on board, with the President lost in the blast – at least, that was the official story. The truth was somewhat more complicated, but burdening the Wasteland population and the younger generation with that knowledge could only prove counterproductive.  
  
At least, that was what President Augustus Autumn thought. Watching from the ship’s bridge as the plane cooled its plasma thrusters and landed on the deck, he couldn’t help but feel satisfaction. The  pilot’s transmission back had determined that the unidentified flying object the plane had been ordered to shoot down was no longer up in the air, making it most likely an unidentified  _ grounded _ object by now. The old air-to-air nuke’s detonation had been above safe height of burst too, meaning the locals should suffer no long-term effects.  
  
Activating the communications suite, he checked up on the NYC scouting expedition, the skeleton-crewed Chicago base, and his top agent down in Florida. All active and responding, good. He then sent a conference call to Vice President Clarkson down in D.C. and talked about some minor civic issues, and had a private chat with the First Lady and his son Alexander. Admiral Keller did not look amused at that last one.  
  
“That’s  _ my  _ communications equipment you’re using for frivolous purposes, Mr. President,” the Admiral harrumphed. "We've just managed to get it repaired!"  
  
“As Commander-in-Chief of the United States Armed Forces, that’s  _ my  _ communications equipment as well, and I can use it any way I damn want to, don't you forget. You may be commanding officer of this ship, but I am President and the chain of command terminates at me. If you weren't such a good seaman I'd have you court-martialed for insubordinate behaviour, but I think I'll let it slide just this once. Understood?”  
  
“Understood, Mr. President,” the Admiral hastily corrected himself.  Autumn grimaced – the man was most likely extra-territorial due to his youth and need to prove himself. The US Navy had been nothing but an empty set of sinecures for centuries, after all.   
  
"Glad you know your limits," Autumn said. "Sometimes we forget our reason and act like children or animals, and then we need to be put in our place. Don't you agree, Admiral Keller?"  
  
"Agreed, Mr. President."  
  
Autumn put on his officers' longcoat - a token of his military career - left the bridge, and stood before the assembled troops. 12 transport vertibirds – not counting Air Force 1 and Air Force 2 – were on deck, each carrying a squad of 14 men – one NCO, twelve regular troops, and a combat medic attached specifically for this op.  _ It’s just the tip of the spear _ , Autumn mused to himself. With impeccable discipline – Drill Sergeant Dornan had his grandfather’s skill at the position – they entered parade formation and saluted the President.  
  
“Men and women of the United States Armed Forces,” he said. “In less than 72 hours we will begin combat and peacekeeping operations in the Greater Boston area and eventually throughout Massachusetts. I want you alert and prepared for combat throughout those 72 hours. Just before we begin, you will be briefed on your mission and what you are required to do to achieve it. I demand exemplary service, conduct and loyalty from you all during these trying times, just as I demanded it in D.C. and in Pittsburgh. Do your country, and your President, proud!”  
  
They saluted again and moved back to their quarters below deck. Soon, the savages and animals infesting Boston would learn what a  _ real _ military could do.  
  
==*==

 

**Lexington, Greater Boston Area**

**21:00 EST, November 13 2287**   
  
Sergeant Granite held his plasma rifle tightly as the vertibird soured over the ruins of Boston. The occasional light of a settlement or household sometimes got his attention, but most of the city was dark, the moon hidden by thick clouds. Boston was uninhabited, abandoned, and desolate like D.C. had been when Enclave forces first arrived, a vast array of scientists, civilians and soldiers seeking to start America anew, fortuitously enough on the 4th of July. Granite had been just age ten that day, his daddy and grandpappy both serving. Now Grandpappy had passed away and Daddy was holed up  on Liberty Island commanding the other scouts deployed to NYC. From the grapevine, he'd heard that place was almost as bad off as D.C.  
  
The vertibird pulled up and Granite received his orders over radio.  
  
“Operation Iron Eagle is good to go. Squads Alpha,  Charlie ,  Echo and  Puma drop in 3, 2, 1...”  
  
“DROP!”  
  
Granite and the rest of Squad Epsilon leapt out of the vertibird onto the dark streets of Lexington below. The sheer force would have shattered his feet and legs had he not been in power armour. As it was he felt nothing. A raider sentry spotted them and rang a warning bell, before Granite pulled the trigger of his plasma rifle and fired the  first shot of what would later be called the Second Battle of Lexington . A barrage of plasma bolts struck him all over the torso, melting the criminal into green goo – the telltale product of molecular destabilisation. But the damn bastard had managed to warn his partners in crime.  
  
Well, let them come. Franklin Horrigan Granite wasn’t named after the meanest sonuvabitch ever to fight for the Enclave for nothing!  
  
A blaze of laser, plasma and tesla fire lit up the streets as other squads exchanged fire with the raiders. The bastards were putting up a damned good fight, but they had no chance of winning. Faced with a real military – and one equipped with power armour at that – not some pissant local militia or a posse of settlers, they had no hope of anything other than dying. Gatling laser fire raked the roofs from above as the raiders were methodically flushed out of the high ground – and right into the teeth of the most advanced weapons systems in the US Military’s arsenal.  


It wasn’t war – it was pest control.

  
Then-  
  
The bright flash, rad spike and thundering boom hit Frank’s armour mere seconds after it struck one of the squad-mates to his left.  _ Mini-nuke! _ The missile had hit near Laura Delaney,  one of the  squad’ s two heavy weapons specialist s , and it looked like she had been hurt bad  if not outright killed . Frank quickly hand-signalled the combat medic to deliver stims and rad drugs effective immediately, and the man hurried to the casualty. The girl had lost a limb, at best. Now to take out the shooter...  
  
He spotted her quickly. Female raider, in some sort of scrap metal power armour, hand-loading a fresh mini-nuke into the launcher, set up on a catwalk attached to the old Corvega factory. Frank fired a volley of shots into the catwalk, and it collapsed, leaving her tangled up in amidst the wreckage. A gatling laser sweep from one of the vertibirds ensured she never got the chance to pull herself out. After her death, the fight was pretty much knocked out of them. The battle was all over but the crying.  
  
One of the raiders, looking desperate, raised his hands and started shouting.  
  
“I surrender! I surrender! I fucking surrender, damn it!”  
  
Frank felt a twinge of pity for the man, barely more than a boy, before he remembered Enclave SOP for dealing with the organised criminal gangs that had used to infest D.C. He drew his plasma pistol and nailed him right between the eyes. The raider’s head burst like an overripe melon, sending brain, blood, and shards of bone in all directions.  _ Good riddance to bad rubbish _ .  
  
By midnight, the town of Lexington was cleared of hostiles. Enclave casualties were restricted to one major injury and several minor cuts and scrapes. The tally of dead raiders, on the other hand, was about 82 by a conservative estimate.

 

==*==

 

_ This day’s been terrible for our whole operation, _ Jared decided as one of those damn gunships strafed the top of his stronghold and its guns shredded another group of his men stupid enough to stand out on the catwalks.  _ Hell, today may have been one of the worst days anybody had since the war. _ What men he had left with any sense were desperately working to fortify the upper floors of the old factory as the screams and sounds of gunfire filtered up from the breach at the front door.  
  
  
To think things had been going so well too. Just this morning his men were the biggest gang in the North Commonwealth, practically undisputed rulers of Lexington. Sure, there were the ghouls hanging around in a good chunk of town, but nobody lived out there but bums and useless chem heads anyhow. And true, one of those fucking  M inutemen (weren’t they all supposed to be dead?) had come through and started shooting his way through the dumbasses on the first floor until he’d promised not to attack the  pathetic farms and little towns they were watching, but that was no big loss, and he’d heard that smaller raider groups who crossed the Minutemen these days were getting wiped out wholesale; so on the whole things were going well.  
  
  
Then, just as the sun was going down for the evening a bunch of fucking flying machines show up out of nowhere and start gunning down any of his men who shoot back! Worse still, they were dropping off more power armored assholes than anyone had seen in one place except the Atom Cats, and those stupid fuckers just stayed in their garage. Jared’s gang was considered pretty hot shit up here since they had a single suit of power armor and that nuclear slingshot they found in the old army checkpoint. Gears had both of those things, and she was the final word in their little extortion racket. Of course, word was the second she pasted one of the assholes outside with her slingshot they started shooting that plasma shit up at the catwalk she liked to hang out on until the whole thing collapsed in a pile of melting steel and dead raider.  
  
  
With her gone that left Jared’s gang with pipe rifles, molotov cocktails and a handful of grenades. The grenades could maybe hurt these fuckers, but the rest of their weapons were just about useless. Not that surrendering was an option, a few of the cowards outside had tried and were  simply shot where they stood for their trouble . So as what few men he had left prepared as best they could to make these fuckers hurt as much as they could before being killed Jared grabbed a half-finished bottle of vodka and chugged it, then snatched a needle full of psycho off of his desk. As the rage started to take over his last coherent thought  ran through his mind.  _ Well shit, at least this way I won’t have to hear that smug asshole Tom ever agai _ _ n. _   
  
  
==*==  


** Lexington, Greater Boston Area **

** 7:00 EST, 14 November 2287 **

  
Lexington was a hive of activity when Nate got there with Piper in tow just before dawn. US Armed Forces men and women in the same power armour as Elliot were keeping a strong perimeter around town. Snipers were perched on rooftops and eyebots were floating through the streets. A large area just outside of town had been surrounded with a chain-link fence and looked to be the site of some major construction efforts.  It was the location of the ruins of Hanscom AFB – a pre-War military base – and that told him what the new arrivals were planning.   
  
Entering city limits, they were immediately stopped by a power-armoured soldier.  
  
“Identity?”  
  
“Piper Wright, reporter  and chief editor for Publick Occurrences,” Piper said.  
  
“Place of residence?”  
  
“I live in Diamond City, at old Fenway Park. You know,  where they used to play baseball games ?”  
  
“You’re clear.”  
  
They were waved through at a checkpoint with little hassle, though Nate’s laser rifle and Piper’s pistol were confiscated.  
  
“Not to infringe on your Second Amendment rights,” the soldier said. “But we can’t let you bring your guns to the Presidential Address for obvious reasons. You’ll get them back when you leave.”  
  
Nate and Piper quickly headed to the location of the speech. A large stage had been set up in front of the old Town Hall, and US flags hung from the building’s windows – the thirteen stripes for the  original thirteen colonies and the stars for the Commonwealths  established in 1969 . Press Corps journalists were waiting with video cameras and recorders in various places near the stage. Piper was discreetly escorted away to a meeting with US military officials, while Nate ended up next to Elliot in the large crowd that had been gathered here in the town square.  
  
At 7:30 AM by his pip-boy, two Vertibirds landed on the stage, both with the Presidential Seal on them. The one to Nate’s left opened up and it started to play [music](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bxgoajDI1WQ) not heard in over two hundred years as President Augustus Autumn took his first steps in the Commonwealth.  
  
He was a tall man, his blond hair cut in a military fashion and with a harsh look to him even in the civilian clothing he was currently wearing. He wore an immaculately-tailored blue suit with a white shirt and a bright red tie, a dozen medals on his chest and a gold ring on his finger.  
  
He drank a glass of water and opened his mouth to speak into the microphone.  
  
“I am going to give two speeches the United States Government has prepared for this historic day,” he said. “First, I will inform the people of Boston and the greater Massachusetts area of our arrival here, our presence in the region, and our intentions in regards to their deplorable situation. Then, I will remind you, loyal men and women of the Enclave, why we fight. Let’s begin.”  
  
“My fellow Americans, many of you have no doubt noticed the arrival of our vessel, the Aircraft Carrier USS  _ Richardson _ , off of the coast of Boston. Many more of you will have noticed the preliminary scouting and peacekeeping operations we have undertaken across the greater Boston area. My name is President Augustus Autumn and we are the Enclave, the rightful government of these United States of America. We are here to restore peace, order and prosperity to Boston, to Massachusetts, and eventually to the entire New England Commonwealth.”  
  
“Though at first the men and women of the United States Armed Forces may seem like a foreign presence intruding upon your lives, if you choose to cooperate with us you will soon find them to be a positive force here. When I look at Boston today I see small, heavily fortified pockets of civilization surrounded by chaos, death and disorder; we are here to help, and we  _ will _ bring order back to the United States, and peace and security back to her  _ loyal _ citizens no matter how long it takes. Thank you for listening, and God bless America.”  
  
The Enclave men cheered and clapped as he finished his speech. Nate himself wondered what the common people of the Commonwealth would think of it when they heard it. Elliot turned to Nate and whispered in his ear.  
  
“Told you President Autumn was the man we need,” Elliot said to his old friend.  
  
“Man knows how to make a speech at least,” Nate replied.  
  
“He’s not finished yet,” Elliot said as various representatives invited from the Wasteland filed off. “Be quiet and pay attention. Your President is speaking.”  
  
Autumn cleared his throat before the assembled Enclave men and women.  
  
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said in his trademark  Tidewater accent. “Scientists, civilian workers, men and women of the United States Armed Forces, we begin a momentous task upon this most auspicious day, the 11th of November.”  
  
“Just like in Washington D.C., around us is a land of anarchy and brutality, a few small islands of civilisation in a sea of barbarism. Bandits and mercenaries afflict the population. Super mutants and feral ghouls run wild in the streets of Boston. And just like in Washington D.C., we will tame the wilderness and cleanse it of the evildoers and animals who oppress and prey upon the American people! We will build up the former desolations and restore the old wastes. We will reintegrate the people of Massachusetts and from it the New England Commonwealth into American society just as we have in D.C.!”  
  
“We will restore to the American people freedom from want and freedom from fear. No longer will they want for medical care, for food or for fresh water. No longer will they fear that their loved ones will be replaced by android infiltrators, no longer will they fear that common bandits or mutants or wild beasts will swoop in on them and destroy all they hold dear. We will restore order and bring peace and prosperity back to a land so long bereft of it.”  
  
“In future, happier times, let the historians write in their books that the atomic holocaust of 2077 was but the fire that forged a stronger, prouder America! As Thomas Paine wrote more than five hundred years ago at the beginning of our grand Republic’s history, these are the times that try men’s souls. But if we hold true to our aims and stay the course, our iron will and our determination will result in victory just as surely as it did in the time of Washington, Lincoln and Roosevelt! We will restore America to what it was before the nuclear fires and what it always must be – one nation, indivisible under God Almighty!”  
  
The cheering and whooping from the troops at that point was so wild that even Nate was caught up in it, feeling happy in a way he hadn’t ever since the death of his wife.  
  
Behind Autumn, the vertibird played a different tune and the Enclave men sang along to it. It was a song Nate himself had sung, back in the halcyon days before the bombs and the Vault and his wife’s death.  
  
_ O say can you see by the morning’s first light,  
What we so proudly hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?  
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,  
O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?  
While the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,  
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.  
O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave  
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave? _   
  
The men saluted and filed off to their positions and tasks, Secret Service bodyguards surrounding the President as he moved to the new base under construction, while a cute blonde in a military  uniform ushered Nate aside.  He noticed a distinctive beauty mark on her cheek.   
  
“President Autumn wants to meet you in private,” she said curtly.  
  
Nate followed her to a prefab command station where the President was waiting, sitting on a simple metal chair.  
  
“Nate Washington, nice to meet you,” he said and held out his hand. “Elliot gave a description of you in his report, and I’ve read the files on you from before the War.”  
  
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. President,” Nate said and shook the man’s hand. “It’s really an honour.”  
  
“Now the introduction is over, I’d like you to meet two of the key people for this operation.”  
  
He gestured to a balding figure in a white lab coat who seemed oddly disdainful of the President.  
  
“This is Doctor Robert Whitley, our top robotics expert. Man’s a bit overly sentimental ‘bout his robots, but he gets results given time and occasionally a bit of pressure.”  
  
Whitley harrumphed.  
  
Then he gestured to a younger man in  power armour with a laser rifle.  
  
“Master Sergeant Saul J. Danse, a Wastelander orphan we picked up  on board USS  _ Richardson _ ‘fore we got her seaworthy again. Loyal to America thick and thin, we thought we might put him on as our official liaison to you  and your militia . What say you?”  
  
“Well, um, okay I guess,” Nate said, not sure what to say and kind of overwhelmed by ... well, talking to the President.  
  
“It’s almost midday,” Autumn noted. “You must have pressing business being the mayor of the Sanctuary Hills settlement. How about you take a ride back on one of our vertibirds?”  
  
“Sure thing, Mr. President.”  
  
"Thanks for taking up my offer of support; I'll be heading back to USS  _ Richardson  _ soon. With its sophisticated communications and sensor suites I can oversee US Military operations across the whole Eastern seaboard, and still make radio addresses to the American people."  
  
They shook hands again and said their goodbyes, then Nate left with Danse in tow to the rapidly-constructed vertibird landing pad. Elliot was waiting at the pad along with Piper as men continued constructing barracks, infirmaries, radio masts, and prefab fortifications with incredible speed and diligence. A soldier quickly hurried and handed Nate and Piper back their weapons, then left.  
  
“You like what you see here?”  
  
“Don’t know, Elliot. It looks almost like an invasion. Like when we were building an FOB at Shanghai when I was deployed to the Yangtze Theatre.”  
  
“Well, it looked like an invasion too when I was fighting in Washington D.C. Now it’s a lot more peaceful; and my daughter has clean food, fresh water, and doesn’t have to wake up each morning scared that a band of raiders will swoop down on her, put an explosive collar on her neck, and sell her on to some sick bastard as a sex slave.”  
  
“You have a daughter?”  
  
“Sally, and she’s adopted. She’s a pre-War girl who got abducted by those little green sons of bitches just as the bombs dropped and escaped that ship of horrors along with me and the man who’s now America’s top Special Forces agent. She’s almost finished  secondary education, and soon she’ll be up for military Reserve training. Hope she ends up in a low-risk assignment.”  
  
“I hope that too.”  
  
“Goodbye Nate, I hope we can meet up again when things are more peaceful.”  
  
“Goodbye Elliot, God bless you.”  
  
“And God bless America,” Elliot replied.  
  
Nate and Elliot exchanged salutes before he got on the vertibird with Piper and Danse, taking the aerial transport back to Sanctuary and the uncertain future.  
  
==*==  
_  
Transcript from Diamond City Radio, same day as the Liberation of Lexington _   
  
[0:00] - Song finishes: Dear Hearts - Crosby, Bob  
  
[0:01] So that… that was Dear Hearts and- uh, yeah. Hey, does anybody- Anybody else think that he was exaggerating? I mean, I don’t think that, uh…  
  
[0:12] [Unintelligible, sound levels too low. Please ensure microphone is kept an appropriate distance from audio source]  
  
[0:22] A- Anyways! There’s news from the, uh, the Commonwealth and this is a… It’s a big one. I don’t… I don’t know if any of you heard, but Lexington. It was a… bad place, lots of really, really bad people lived there! But now they- they don’t. Yeah, uh. Last night they were driven out… uh… Well, uh, killed- really. By a new group related to that big boat  in the harbour  people have been talking about.  
  
[0:57] The new guys they uh… Call themselves the Enclave,  or the US Government. It’s kinda confusing, really . And… Un- Oh.. Unlike most people they actually- actually invited us to come talk! I… I didn’t… er… I was… I didn’t go.  
  
I did ask, uh, well. I asked Piper to take a recorder! She was going… uh… of course. You can r- read all about it in the newspaper!  
  
[Warning: sound levels low] We’re allowed to talk about that, right? The mayor never told me not to.  
  
It turns out I.. didn’t even have to ask her! They, uh, they gave her a recording they made! It’s really high quality. That was nice of them, right? I’ll… uh… I’ll just put that in now.  
  
[1:51] - Recording Begins, President Autumn speaking.  
  
“My fellow Americans, many of you have no doubt noticed the arrival of our vessel, the Aircraft Carrier USS  _ Richardson _ , off of the coast of Boston. Many more of you will have noticed the preliminary scouting and peacekeeping operations we have undertaken across the greater Boston area. My name is President Augustus Autumn and we are the Enclave, the rightful government of these United States of America. We are here to restore peace, order and prosperity to Boston, to Massachusetts, and eventually to the entire New England Commonwealth.”  
  
“Though at first the men and women of the United States Armed Forces may seem like a foreign presence intruding upon your lives, if you choose to cooperate with us you will soon find them to be a positive force here. When I look at Boston today I see small, heavily fortified pockets of civilization surrounded by chaos, death and disorder; we are here to help, and we  _ will _ bring order back to the United States, and peace and security back to her  _ loyal _ citizens no matter how long it takes. Thank you for listening, and God bless America.”  
  
[3:03] So there it is. Uh… Well… the Government is.. uh… is back. That’s- unexpected! But… it’s good, right? I mean… uh… I don’t know where they… uh, went. But. They’re here and… Promising good times for all… That’s good, right?  
  
[3:34] [Clattering, sounds of something heavy falling]  
  
Oh God! We’re all gonna die! 


End file.
